


Now There, That's It

by Boots (pwnmercys)



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:22:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7642258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pwnmercys/pseuds/Boots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some time after demonstrating to Moritz how to deal with wet dreams, Melchior is curious how much of his instruction his best friend has put to use.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now There, That's It

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a sequel to [Just Try It](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5241542?view_adult=true), but it can be read as a standalone. Honestly I just wanted there to be more Melchior/Moritz smut out there.

Moritz was seated in his habitual chair in Melchior’s room, his blazer hung over the back of the chair and a lit cigarette held tightly between two fingers.  He had struggled through the exams Herr Sonnenstich had given that day--as if a single exam in a day wasn’t enough!--and now Moritz was a mess with worry and would take any small comfort he could.  

“Think positively, Moritz.  At least we don’t have any schoolwork or studying to do.  There’s no sense in worrying about the exams; you can’t do anything more.  Try to relax, hm?”  Melchior rested a reassuring hand on Moritz’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, but his friend’s body remained tense beneath his fingers.  Melchior frowned.  “I’m worried about you, you know.”

Moritz forced a smile, then even a laugh, as he looked up to meet Melchior’s eyes.  “It’s nothing, Melchi.  Just hard to take my mind off school.  Really.”  But Melchior could feel the tension in his shoulder, in his posture, and he knew his friend better than to believe that.  Lately, whenever they talked, Moritz always seemed to bring the topic back to schoolwork, and Melchior suspected that this was a means of keeping their conversations superficial.  He also suspected the reason why.

It had been several weeks since their initial conversation--if one could call it that--about wet dreams.  Melchior had offered Moritz a remedy to his problem, and had gone so far as to give his friend a demonstration which was much more thorough than the illustrations in his essay.  It seemed unusual to Melchior that Moritz hadn’t brought up the topic since then; normally the two of them were perfectly comfortable talking about anything together.  Perhaps his friend had taken social mores to heart, and was ashamed of this newfound sexuality.  Perhaps he simply felt vulnerable now that Melchior had seen him so exposed, so honest, so intimate.  He himself had no trouble trusting Moritz with those things, and he hoped to find that trust reciprocated.  

Melchior was worried for Moritz, truly, but he could not deny that his concern was also motivated by his boundless inquisitiveness.  Had Moritz acted upon Melchior’s instruction since that day?  Had their little encounter alleviated Moritz’s problems more effectively than the essay had?  It seemed that Melchior would have to be the one to initiate the conversation if he wanted the answers.

“So, Moritz.”  Melchior leaned over the small table toward Moritz, his voice careful on the surface but betraying his curiosity beneath.  “Those dreams you were having.”  

Moritz jerked in his chair, taken off guard.  “Yes?  What about them?”  

Melchior’s hand gave Moritz’s shoulder another supportive squeeze.  His friend seemed so distracted even now, and Melchior wished he could comfort him somehow.  “It’s just that I remember how much they were bothering you before.  Have things gotten any better?”  He felt it best not to allude to what had transpired between them, at least not yet.

Moritz somehow managed to maintain eye contact.  “Well… yes, I guess.  The dreams haven’t been happening so much, if that’s what you mean.”

“So have you been…?”  Melchior’s eyes strayed downward, wordlessly completing his question.

Moritz’s hands moved instinctively to cover his lap.  “Have I been _touching_ \--?”  Melchior brought his gaze back up to Moritz’s face, and nodded.  While Moritz flushed a bit in response, he seemed surprisingly calm given the circumstances.  “I...  Yes, I have.  And I appreciate you showing me, that really did help.”  Finally the awkwardness came, as if it was slowly dawning on Moritz the nature of what they were talking about.  “I hope it wasn’t uncomfortable for you.”

Melchior waved his hand, dismissing the idea.  “No, no, Moritz, it’s fine.  I’m glad I could help.”  Moritz looked relieved.  “To be honest with you, I’ve been thinking about it a lot, what we did together.”  Melchior gave him an awkward smile, if it was possible for Melchior to seem awkward.  “Sometimes even when I touch myself.”

Moritz’s eyes grew wide, and he seemed confused yet comforted by the admission.  He returned Melchior’s awkward smile, along with a confession of his own.  “Sometimes, when I,” he paused, unsure of the right words, “when I do _that_ , I remember what we did too.”  Moritz took a breath.  “I remember you watching me, and it makes my body all tingly to think about it.”  His hands ran up and down his arms as if to demonstrate, appearing to shiver.

This time, it was Melchior whose eyes widened in surprise, though it was evidently not an unpleasant surprise.  When he spoke, there was something different in his demeanor.  “That’s funny,” he said, “because I always think of watching you.”

“Always?” Moritz asked.   Melchior shrugged noncommittally, and his failure to answer the question gave Moritz some idea as to what the answer might be.  “That is kind of funny.”  

But Moritz’s response was oblivious, absent of the undercurrent Melchior’s had.  Clearly he didn’t understand Melchior’s intent, which was frustrating but objectively not unexpected.  Melchior continued.  “It’s interesting, isn’t it?  How we both think about it.  How we both think about different sides to the same thing.”  

Moritz shrugged.  “I suppose so.”  They were clearly not on the same page; Melchior would have to elaborate, then.

“Have you ever thought about trying it again?  Since we both seem to think about it so much.”  His tone was more friendly than suggestive; even now there was a chance that Moritz would still not understand.  

But it seemed that Moritz finally grasped the implications of Melchior’s words, and judging by the expression on his face, he had found them startling.  Melchior tried to backtrack, worried that he had pressed too far and endangered their friendship.  “I don’t mean to ask--.”

But Moritz interrupted.  “Honestly?  I hadn’t thought of it before.  Not that I wouldn’t--”  Moritz fumbled for a moment.  “I mean, I didn’t think of it as a possibility.”  

“It is.”  Melchior tread gently still, even as he made his suggestion more clear.

“Well.  I’m certainly thinking about it now.”  Moritz indeed seemed to be thinking hard.

Melchior pressed on.  “And what do you think?”  

“I feel…”  A pause for more thought.  “I feel embarrassed, I guess.”  Moritz stared down at his lap.  “What if you’re watching me and I don’t know what to do?  What if I’ve been doing it wrong?”  
  
Melchior laughed his warm laugh.  “I think you’d know if you’d been doing it wrong!”  As this didn’t seem to assuage Moritz's worries, he continued, “If it does happen, then I suppose I could teach you some more.”

Moritz looked up again, and his face betrayed his interest.  “Teach me more...?”

“Yes.”  Melchior leaned in once more, conspiratorial, as if he were imparting some captivating secret.  “What if I helped you again?  More than last time, I mean.”

“How?”

Melchior’s gaze was keen, attentive.  “Me touching you, instead of you touching yourself.  That way you wouldn’t have to worry about how you look, or if you’re doing it right.”

Moritz swallowed.  There was a contemplative pause during which his face displayed a wide range of emotion.  Finally, “That sounds… interesting.”  He continued, somewhat uncertain.  “But if I wanted to stop, we would stop.  Right?”

Melchior nodded.  “Of course.”

“Well, then.”  Tentatively, Moritz nodded his agreement.  “We could try.”  His hands twisted in his lap, agitated, as if he were not quite sure what to do with them.

Melchior knew Moritz intimately and could recognize his body language  He tacitly understood the reason behind his friend’s restlessness.  “Right now?”

Moritz nodded.  “I mean… if we’re going to do it.”

Melchior grinned in agreement.  “Why not now?”

Moritz nodded again, his cheeks flushing.  “So, I guess I’ll… um.”  He pushed his chair back from the small desk where they studied, and his hands moved to take his suspenders down before reaching for his tie.  As he began to untie the knot, Melchior’s fingers brushed against the back of his hand, and Moritz looked up.  Melchior gently pulled Moritz’s hand away from his tie.  “May I?”

Moritz took a sharp breath.  The question aroused in him the same tingly, interested feeling as the memory of Melchior watching him.  His hands let go of the tie and he responded, “Yes.”

“Come on, then,” Melchior said, taking Moritz by the hand and tugging gently in the direction of his bed.  Moritz stood and allowed himself to be guided toward the bed and maneuvered until he was seated on the mattress with his legs hanging over the side.  Melchior settled himself between them and finished removing Moritz’s tie with ease.  As his hands began to unfasten the buttons on Moritz’s shirt, Melchior leaned in and pressed a kiss to Moritz’s lips, soft but still laden with desire.  

Moritz started and pulled back, his expression a mixture of surprise and confusion.  “Melchior?  What is this--?”

Melchior grasped Moritz by the collar of his shirt and pulled him back into another kiss, tilting his head and kissing more firmly than before.  This time Moritz’s hands pressed against Melchior’s chest and pushed him away.  

Melchior’s breaths were coming faster than before as he looked at Moritz.  “Moritz?  What’s the matter?”

Moritz shook his head quickly.  “I’ve never--.”

“Neither have I.  Don’t worry.”  Melchior’s hand came to rest on Moritz’s face.  He stroked his friend’s cheek with the pad of his thumb, then tried to lean in again.

But Moritz’s hands were still pressed against Melchior’s chest, holding him back.  “No, Melchi.  It’s not that I don’t--!”  He cut himself off and shook his head.  “It’s not that I haven’t before.  It’s not that.  It just _feels_ too much.”

Melchior looked disappointed, even sad, but he pulled back.  “All right.”  His lips pressed themselves into a thin line and he turned his head away, then sighed.  When he looked back at Moritz, the disappointment was gone from his face, but he could not quite hide the trace of sadness.  Still, he offered, “Do you--do you want me to stop?”

There was a pause between them, and it felt as if all of the air in the room had gone, leaving them with nothing to breathe.  It was Moritz who broke the silence, a quiet urgency in his voice.  “It’s fine.  Keep going.  Just don’t…”  His voice trailed off to a whisper, “just don’t do that.”  He brushed a hand up Melchior’s chest to touch his face.  “Okay?”

Melchior nodded his understanding.  “Okay.”  It hurt, a bit, that Moritz didn’t want to kiss him; he could feel a heavy knot tightening in his chest, made of something he couldn’t name.  But Melchior chose not to dwell on this, letting the thought pass from his mind in favor of returning his attentions to his friend.  

His hands went back to unfastening the buttons of Moritz’s shirt, his fingers more quick and sure than before, and soon he had worked the last button free.  When this was done, he slowly spread the shirt open, eyes wide and taking in every inch of newly exposed skin.   Melchior traced curious fingers along Moritz’s collarbone and down his sternum, then spread both hands across Moritz’s chest and ran them up and down his friend’s torso.  

Recalling how sensitive Moritz’s nipples had been, Melchior brushed a thumb against one, then the other.  Moritz responded with a great gasp, and the inhalation lifted his chest up into Melchior’s hands.  Melchior took both nipples between his fingertips, and lightly pinched and tugged.  Moritz’s back arched, chasing the sensation, and he could not hold back a small sound of pleasure.

Watching Moritz’s reactions and raking his eyes down his exposed chest,  Melchior’s lips ached to taste his friend’s warm skin.  He looked up at Moritz, uncertain.  “Can I… is it okay if I use my mouth elsewhere? Not to kiss?”

Moritz nodded, “Yes.  Please.”

Melchior moved in quickly, slipping Moritz’s shirt down one shoulder and pressing his lips to Moritz’s neck as he continued to tease his chest with his hands.  Moritz gave a surprised gasp.  “Ah!”  Melchior’s teeth scraped lightly down his neck, and he traced his tongue down Moritz’s collarbone to place a kiss over his heart.

Moritz could feel Melchior’s hot breath across his skin.  When Melchior’s mouth moved to cover his nipple, Moritz let out a breathy moan.  His fingers curled into the bedsheets and he leaned back toward the mattress.  Melchior followed him, climbing up onto the bed and encouraging Moritz to turn his body so that his head was resting on a pillow.  Melchior rolled over to lay beside Moritz and moved a hand down between his friend’s legs, touching him through his trousers.  “Is this okay?”  Moritz thrust against his hand in answer, and Melchior began to rub circles against him through the material.

He turned onto his side, taking in the pleasure on Moritz’s face as Melchior touched him.  Moritz’s eyes cracked open, and he noticed Melchior’s attentive gaze.  Melchior saw him looking, but didn’t look away.  He only smiled and rubbed more firmly against Moritz’s erection.  “M-Melchi--!  Oh!”  Moritz’s eyes closed and he bucked up against Melchior’s hand.  Melchior rested his forehead against Moritz, burying his nose in his hair and breathing in his sweat, his scent, breathing in _Moritz_.  As he continued to rub, feeling his friend’s hardness beneath his hand, he let out a quiet groan into Moritz’s ear.

At this, Moritz again opened his eyes and turned to look at Melchior.  “Could you… that is…”  Moritz stopped talking and instead moved his hands down to unfasten his own trousers, then moved Melchior’s hand to rest just above the waistband of his underwear.  

Melchior nodded.  “Yes.  Yes, I can.”  His hand trailed down the line of hair on Moritz’s belly, fingers brushing against the warm skin, then slid beneath the fabric to grasp his hard cock.  He gave Moritz a few quick strokes before pulling him out of his underwear.  Moritz couldn’t hold back another moan, and he pushed his trousers down his hips to give Melchior better access.  Melchior began stroking him more firmly, with purpose.  For all the times Moritz had done this on his own, his body had never felt like _this_.  One of his hands moved to brush against his own chest, while the other went down to join Melchior’s.  

Melchior made a choked, pleasured noise as he felt Moritz’s hand wrap around his own.  “ _God_.”  He maneuvered his free hand to his own trousers and fumbled to unfasten them as if it were his first time.  Melchior pulled out his own cock and began to stroke himself in time with stroking Moritz.  His eyes fixed on his and Moritz’s hands moving up and down together, his sense of touch focused on the feeling of Moritz’s soft skin sliding beneath his hand and the heat of Moritz’s hand above.  Moritz gave his hand a squeeze and Melchior looked up.

“I think…” Moritz began.  “That is...  I don’t think I feel embarrassed anymore.”   Melchior raised his eyebrows in question, and Moritz slipped his hand down to the base of his cock and slowly pushed Melchior’s up and off.  His face was shy.  “I want you to watch me.  And you probably wanted that hand back anyway.”

Melchior laughed; it was true, he was hardly ambidextrous, and he hadn’t been willing to give Moritz his first handjob with his non-dominant hand.  He watched as Moritz began to stroke himself in earnest, following the rhythm that Melchior had set with him.  “ _Fuck_ ,” Melchior breathed as he watched, “that’s it, just like that.”  Moritz nodded and stroked a bit faster, mindful of Melchior’s eyes on him and all the more sensitive for it.  Like this, he could tell that he was going to finish himself soon.

Melchior lay on his back as his hand finally moved to stroke himself.  He honestly didn’t know how he had waited this long.  Watching Moritz stirred something inside him, something both excited and unsure, but he was too given away to sensation to think much about it now.  He pumped himself steadily up and down, as he watched Moritz do the same.  He seemed more confident and masterful than before, and Melchior imagined Moritz practicing, stroking himself at night when no one was looking, and thinking… thinking about _Melchior_.  His stomach twisted itself into knots, and the feeling moved lower and lower.  He saw Moritz’s hips begin to thrust more urgently into his fist, heard him make a guttural noise deep in his throat, and Melchior’s hungry gaze turned to his friend’s face.  What a thing it was to see.  Moritz’s face was flushed and contorted in pleasure.  His head tilted back against the pillows and he gasped, his hand working hard and fast as he came.  Melchior stared open mouthed, his own hand gripping himself more tightly as Moritz unravelled before him.

Moritz’s breath began to slow, and his eyes finally opened to look at Melchior.  He was met with a gaze of hunger, and of something else for which he had no name, something he didn’t yet understand.  Now Moritz looked down as his friend stroked himself, and a sudden urge rose within him.  Moritz struggled with it, but the idea was insistent; he was unsure how to fight it and equally unsure how to express himself.  Finally he managed, “Can I… touch…?”

Melchior’s eyes widened and darkened with want.  He nodded emphatically.  “Yes,” he breathed, and let go of himself to allow Moritz to try.

Moritz’s hand wrapped around Melchior, and he let out a soft groan as he felt the slick warmth of his friend’s hand surround him.  The slickness… oh god, Moritz was stroking him with his own come still coating his fingers.  Melchior’s breaths came faster and faster, more harsh and wild, as Moritz stroked him.  He let his eyes close, and he focused entirely on his friend’s touch.  When he did open his eyes to catch a glimpse of Moritz, he saw that Moritz’s gaze hadn’t moved from Melchior’s face.  His eyes closed again, and he felt his body becoming rapidly more sensitive as his orgasm built in Moritz’s now-practiced hand.

“Fast--faster,” he breathed.  Moritz felt the heat of Melchior’s breath against his cheek, and he increased the speed of his strokes.  Soon enough, he felt Melchior shudder beneath his hand.

Melchior found himself overwhelmed with sensation.  Touching himself was nothing to this, the softness of Moritz’s hand, the sureness of the strokes, the lack of control.  He’d never felt anything like it before--his very first time, perhaps, but nothing in recent memory--and the intensity of his orgasm quickly overtook him.

Moritz continued to stroke Melchior as his body shuddered through the aftershocks.  Finally, he breathed the word “ _enough_ ,” and Moritz let go.  Melchior lay there panting, even after Moritz had ceased to touch him, and slumped into the sheets.  After a minute, Melchior looked over to find his friend in a quandary.

Moritz was holding out his now-messy hand with a look of discomfort, as if to ask what to do with it now.  After all, there was no loose shirt on hand this time.

A thought struck Melchior, and he sat up and took Moritz’s hand by the wrist.  “Here, let me just…”  Curious, he brought the hand up to his mouth.  Melchior recognized his own taste, but there was something unfamiliar mixed with it; it must be Moritz.  The thought was dizzying, and if he hadn’t just come, Melchior felt sure that he would be aroused by the knowledge.  One by one, he sucked Moritz’s fingers clean.

Moritz didn’t seem to understand the appeal, but he had no reservations about Melchior doing this if it pleased him.  He had come to the conclusion that he liked being watched by Melchior more than he had liked touching him, but it was all right; Melchior was his best friend, he trusted him as he trusted no one else.  He didn’t regret this, this thing they shared.  “Thank--thank you.  That was good.”

When Melchior was done, he lowered Moritz’s hand.  “Thank _you_.  It was good for me too, really good.”  He brushed Moritz’s hair out of his face, then leaned down and kissed his friend on the forehead.  “And you see?  There’s no mess this time.”  

Moritz’s laugh was genuine.  He still had that loose, happy feeling which he tended to experience after orgasm.  “I suppose not.”  Moritz raised himself to sit next to Melchior, still smiling at him.  He took a quick breath, then leaned in to place a brief peck on Melchior’s lips.  Moritz still wasn’t certain how he felt about kissing, but the look that spread across his friend’s face when he pulled away was worth it.  “So… did I do it right?”  He couldn’t stop himself from giggling again.

Melchior’s smile was tender with affection.  “Yeah, you did.  It was perfect.”  His fingers brushed against the back of Moritz’s hand, and he seemed about to rest his hand atop Moritz’s before he paused.  But Moritz’s fingers rose from the sheets and intertwined themselves with Melchior’s.  His skin was soft and his hand was warm.

It _was_ perfect--at least for now.


End file.
